


Keep Your Eyes on Me

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Ship Clint With Everyone [11]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, I love Silverado, Magic, Prompt Fill, Second Chances, Tumblr Prompt, Westerns, peggy is a bamf, ship clint with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy gets a second chance and she does what she always has ... save the world and make everyone else happy. But maybe this time, she'll find some joy for herself. </p>
<p>Written in answer to a prompt to write Clint & Peggy.  Part of my ship Clint with everyone series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Eyes on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shutupanddontbelate.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shutupanddontbelate.tumblr.com).



> shutupanddontbelate challenged me to write a Peggy/Clint story. The hardest part was figuring out how to get the tow of them in the same time; I didn't want to do time travel, so once I had the basic concept the rest of this sort of fell into place. Hope you enjoy!

**YESTERDAY**

She’d lived a long and full life, even if the the details were lost in the haze of alzheimer’s. Some things were seared in the very fabric of her body, the emotions indelible on her soul. The moment Steve came out of the pod, body changed but the same person who went in. The cool feel of the microphone in her hand, tears distorting her vision as the static rolled in her ears. The sound of Angie’s laughter, the crinkle of paper as she held the fragrant roses Howard had given her, makeup still on her face. The weight of the gold ring and the touch of fingers as he slid it on. A baby’s cry as a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. Squeals of delighted children and tearing of paper on a Christmas morning.

It was time. Her breath rattled in her ribcage, frail skin stretched like rice paper across her bones. She’d lived to see Steve again, to hear his voice, and that was so much more than she’d ever dreamed she could have. Time had dimmed what she’d felt for him; now that she knew the kind of love that lasted decades, her love for the skinny kid from Brooklyn took on new meaning. Their lives would have been different, fighting together, building SHIELD, dealing with the Cold War, Vietnam, Korea. Watching Steve struggle to adjust, she thought fondly of her husband, his solid nature and long-suffering understanding of her obsession with her job. Maybe, she thought in one of her lucid moments, Steve needed to find someone who would challenge him to live in the present, give him a place in this time. But it wouldn’t be her.

The beat of her heart slowed, a universe suspended between each pulse. For all she’d accomplished, it came to this, an old woman looking back and sighing in contentment. A gentle exhale at a life well lived. Turning her eyes forward and seeing her grandchildren, nieces and nephews stepping up to take her place. Leaving the world in the capable hands of Captain America and the rest of the Avengers. A well of peace opened around her; she needed only to sink into it and rest. Quiet, easy, no pain … in that second, the memory rose up before her … she startled enough for her eyes to fly open and a gasp to leave her lips.

“Aunt Peggy?” Sharon asked, leaning close.

“I’d forgotten,” she murmured.

And then the breath left her body in a rush, and another flooded back in..

**1949**

_“You’ve got to leave,” Peggy said. “It’s not safe; German troops are coming this way.”_

_The small group of Romani families were sheltered in a small copse of trees, hunkered near their wagons. Men, women, and children of all ages looked at her in a mixture of fear and distrust. Not that she blamed them; they were being systematically hunted by German troops,  rounded up and sent to the camps. Even the civilians turned them in, trading their own safety for the lives of the travelers._

_“The Meister of the town gave your location away; they’ll be here in half an hour. If you leave now, we’ll cover you.” She hoped someone here spoke English; just in case, she repeated herself in Romanian and Russian._

_“Why would you help us?” One man stepped forward, his bushy beard covering the lower half of his face. Anger laced his words._

_“Good God, man, you’ve got women and children,” Dum Dum said, coming to a stop beside Peggy. “Get your families out of here.  Head south; the Germans are making a sweep west.”_

_The man’s gaze swept over them and then did a quick survey of the others. A dark haired woman nodded in response; an eight-year-old girl stood next to her, shoulders back, dark eyes unwavering on Peggy. “Dah. We go.”_

_In less time than Peggy imagined, the wagons were hitched and rolling out. The man who’d spoken was the last to leave, he and his wife shepherding the evacuation. Their daughter held the reins of the big draft horse, patting his head and calming him. In a second it all changed: a close gunshot sounded, the horse reared and the girl lost her footing, falling to the ground beneath the descending hooves. Peggy moved without thinking, tucking the girl into her embrace and rolling across the muddy grass. A sharp pain lanced through her hip then hands were helping them up, Dum Dum’s frightened face leaning over her._

_“What the hell, Peg?” He demanded. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”_

_“Anya.” The father grabbed his daughter and hugged her tight, shook his finger in her face, then hugged her again.. “My Anya.”_

_More gunshots; Peggy limped to the side as the father bundled the girl into the wagon and clambered up onto the seat. The mother, having calmed the horse, caught Peggy’s arm. “Thank you,” she said, a tear in the corner of her eye. “You are a good woman. The world needs more good people.”  A calloused finger brushed back a stray curl of Peggy’s hair; a warmth flowed into her. “It is time. I gift you. One day, you will remember.”_

_With that she was gone, up in the wagon that pulled away quickly._

_“What did she say to you?” Dum Dum asked, chambering a round in his rifle, ready to move out._

_“Just thank you,” Peggy said, the gift already forgotten._

**TODAY**

“Peggy?” Warm brown eyes filled with concern,  the young woman leaned over her.

“I was just …” Where had she been? Images layered over images – a forest in Bosnia, a room filled with pictures, a little girl and a horse, a fading view from a window – none of them making any sense. “There was a girl … and my children …”

“Her name was Anya; she was my grandmother.” The woman had an Eastern European accent; now that Peggy looked, she could see the resemblance in the cheekbones and the line of her nose. “Before she passed, she told me of the gift her mother gave you and how I was to watch for you, to help you adjust.”

“Gift?” Yes, Peggy remembered the words clearly now; how could she have forgotten for so long? “To protect the persecuted.”

Instead of answering, the woman lifted a mirror from the table and held it out. Framed there in the golden oval, Peggy saw her dark curls, loose around her face, her skin smooth, eyes bright. She could hardly believe it; every memory was crisp, detailed and full. Her whole life, her children … her death. All fresh as if they happened yesterday.

“A second life. The same as you gave Anya. Our people believe that death averted is not accidental, but a splintering of the path,” she said. “When you died, the gift gave you another chance.”

“But, why am I young again?” he could hardly believe it; flexing her hand without the ache of arthritis, she marveled as the smooth skin pulled and retracted without leaving wrinkles.

“You are as you were the moment the gift was given, in body at least.” The woman smiled. “I’m sorry, but grandmother wasn’t exactly clear about the specifics. She had a tendency to forget details.”

Pushing up in the bed, Peggy felt a wave of dizziness sweep up into her head. “Oh,” she exhaled. “That wasn’t a good idea.”

“You need to rest; you will gain your energy back slowly. Sleep now.”

A cool hand soothed across her forehead, and Peggy’s eyes drooped, too heavy to keep open. “I don’t even know where I am or who you are,” she complained, the words mere murmurs on her lips.

“My name is Wanda and you’re safe in Stark Tower.”

* * *

The second time she surfaced, Peggy was met by a nurse who took her vitals and chatted about how well Peggy was doing. A doctor followed, neither of them answering her questions other than to tell her she was going to be fine. Fuming at being handled, Peggy pushed the doctor’s stethoscope away.

“What I want,” she said, “are some answers. I demand to talk to whoever is in charge here.”

“Well, I’m not in charge, but will I do?” Steve stood framed in the door, his blue checked button up tucked neatly in his khaki pants. “Technically, I’m not SHIELD anymore, so I guess Tony is the boss, but I doubt you want to deal with a Stark right now.”

“Oh, thank God,” Peggy said, pushing the button to elevate the head of her bed. “Tell them that I’m perfectly fine and don’t need to be poked and prodded.”

“Could we do this later?” Steve asked the doctor. “I’d like to talk to Director Carter alone first.”

In his defense, the doctor looked relieved as he nodded in agreement, gathered his things and left, the nurse right behind. As soon as the door shut, Steve drew a stool over and sat next to the edge of the bed. His hand found hers and squeezed.

“So, this is strange,” he said with a chuckle. “Neither of us can do death the normal way.”

“I had no idea,” Peggy admitted. “I was ready, Steve. I lived a good life; I didn’t ask for this.”

“Near as we can tell, it’s magic.” Steve shrugged at Peggy’s arched eyebrow. “Yeah, magic is real it seems. Tony’s hanging on to the idea it’s a mutation; Wanda’s grandmother triggered a latent gene and here you are. But Thor says he’s seen many magical gifts. Whatever happened, here you are, young again.”

“My family …” She paused, unable to imagine what they must think.

“Only Sharon knows. She was with you when you … changed. She called me and we arranged for you to be brought here. As far as the rest of the family is concerned, you are still at home; you can make the decision what to tell them further.”

Such deep blue eyes Steve had. She’d always loved his expressive eyes even when he’d been skinny; they showed his every emotion. And right now, Steve’s conflict was clear; he was happy and yet worried about what came next.  “It’s probably best for the grandkids not to know, but I’ll tell my children. They deserve to know. We can honestly say Peggy Carter passed away; I could be my own granddaughter at this age!”

“Trust me, I know how that feels.” Steve’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Being old and young at the same time isn’t easy. You and Buck will have a lot in common when we find him.”

“James?” Peggy sat straight up. “James is alive?”

“I told you last time I visited,” Steve said. “The Winter Soldier. You had heard of him.”

“My memory during the last few months if riddled with holes thanks to that awful disease.” Peggy’s mind jumped right into the problem, speeding through the implications. “They must have been keeping him on ice. We found hints of that technology at the school where they trained the girl assassins. They found him after his fall … oh, God, Steve, Zola was experimenting on him. You think they tried a super soldier serum on him? That’s how he survived.”

She tossed off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed; a machine beeped and red lights flashed.

“Peg, you need to rest …” Steve tried to argue, but Peggy was having none of it.

“I’ve been out of action too long.” She stood, wavering only a little; grabbing the open flap on the back of her gown, she held it closed. “If James is out there, we have to find him.”

Steve’s smile widened as he stared at her determined face. “I’ve missed you, Peggy. You’ll never know how much.”

* * *

“Um, you have to set the timer before you add the water.”

Peggy put down her mug and turned, giving up on the intricate machine. It had more knobs and dials than most machines she’d seen in the hospital. Standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing only a pair of low slung black sweatpants, was Clint Barton. While she’d known about the Avengers Initiative early on, she hadn’t met any of the others until two days ago when Steve introduced her to most of the team. Barton had been the missing member, off on a mission, but she’d read his file. Best thing about being  one of the founding directors of SHIELD was taking the strangeness of her situation in stride.

“I just wanted a cup of tea,” she said with a laugh. “This thing makes the water too hot anyway.”

“Tony likes it scalding. I think it’s the only way he can taste it.”  Rubbing a hand through his sleep tousled hair, Clint blinked his eyes and squinted at her, confusion on his face. He shuffled over to the cabinet and took out a I Hate Mondays mug. “You can adjust it with the three knobs on the bottom.”

“I think I’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” She opened cabinets, turning away from the bare chest with battle scars and taut muscles. Clint was in good condition, if a little lean for her tastes. But his biceps more than made up for it. And that little fission of awareness meant she was back to her old self; she always had a soft spot for heroes. The kettle was behind the third door she opened. Turning on the tap, she began to fill it with water.

“Bruce keeps a stash in the cabinet above the fridge,” Clint told her as he sipped his coffee without waiting on it to cool. “Some chai and herbals, I think. Depends on what you like.”

He made no move to leave, leaning against the countertop and clinging to his mug like it was a lifeline while he watched her start the water to boil.  Picking a ceylon chai, Peggy hummed to herself as she measured it into the strainer and looked for the sugar bowl. Being young again meant eating and drinking things she’d had to to give up; she was going to have to start exercising again or she’d be gaining weight. At the moment, she had lot of time in her day since she was on the watchlist; magical deaging was one of the things people didn’t take lightly.  As she waited for the water to heat, she side eyed Clint, noting the series of bruises on his left arm and the scratches across his shoulder. Another bruise was blooming above one eye, and he was favoring his right leg. He sagged against the counter, eyelids half closed.

“Not a morning person?” she asked. Blue grey eyes flicked up at her, assessed her in a heartbeat from head to toe, and then he met her gaze squarely.

“Got in late last night.” Clint’s lips tugged up at the corner. “Sleep is highly overrated.”

“A good rest is invigorating.” Peggy got out a cup and saucer. “But I find maintaining the time zone you’re in helps with jet lag. I often got up early or stayed up late to get my body adapted to day and night. Hopping around the world can play havoc on the diurnal cycle.”

Clint gave a half-laugh, half-snort. “You must be Jane’s friend from the Royal Academy. The tea and the science gave you away.”

So he didn’t know who she was? That was interesting. “I would have thought the accent was the first clue.”

“True, but I wasn’t completely awake.” His eyes lid down and back up, taking in her whole body. “So how are you finding New York?”

How long had it been since she’d flirted with a handsome man? After her husband passed away, she’d been too busy with SHIELD and the kids then she discovered there were few men who interested her. And now there was the tension with Steve, the strange limbo she found herself in, neither where they’d been during the war nor where they were now. Clint’s easy banter wasn’t weighed down by what if and what might be.

She brazenly eyed him back, taking in his muscular arms and his strong thighs. “Oh, I love this city. Brooklyn is a lovely neighborhood.”

“Brooklyn? Sounds like you’ve already met Steve,” Clint said with a chuckle. “He’d have you believe the sun rose and set in that part of town. Trust me, there’s more to the Big Apple than that.”

“Let me guess. You’ll be glad to show it to me? Take me around, introduce me to the sights?” By heavens, she was enjoying this, feeling younger with each word. “I have been cooped up in the Tower; getting out sounds wonderful.”

“I know a great little deli for lunch …” Clint began.

“There you are.” Steve came through the door, swinging around the breakfast bar and heading for the coffee machine. “Fury wants to meet with us at 10 and Maria has the afternoon booked for a protocol update and briefing. You ready for more hurry up and do nothing, Peg?” He deftly worked the coffee machine, making a cup of a dark roast for himself.

“My ass is already numb just thinking about it.” Yet another wasted day with talk and hoops to jump through; she hated the way the clock kept ticking and she was spinning her wheels.

“Wait.” Clint stood up, his cup clinking against the granite countertop. “Peg? Peggy? But she’s …”

“Long story.” Peggy shrugged. “Suffice it to say it involves a magical gift, but, yes, I’m Peggy Carter. Nice to meet you, Clint.”

“Aw, no.” Clint dropped his head.. “Look, Cap, I didn’t know, okay? I mean, she’s a good looking woman and she’s in the kitchen making tea and I thought of Jane and her science friend and … Hell, I’m just going to go before I stick my foot in my mouth far enough to kiss my ass.”

Steve watched Clint beat a hasty retreat, confused. “What was that all about?” he asked Peggy.

“Just getting to know the other Avengers,” Peggy replied with a smile. Clint’s ass was certainly a fine view to start her morning.

* * *

The pain woke her, a stab in her abdomen that made her curl in on herself. A second cramp rippled down her back, a solid ache that defined her stretch. The stickiness between her legs left no doubt what was going on.  One of the implications she’d overlooked with her de-aging; she’d gone through menopause in her late fifties and hadn’t had a period since then. She certainly hadn’t missed them.

Rolling out of bed, she headed into the bathroom; opening cabinet after drawer, she searched for tampons or pads. She found the make up bag Pepper had delivered; inside was one panty liner in a decorative case. That would work for a bit, but she always bled heavy at the start. Rinsing her underwear in the sink, she remembered that Pepper was in Malibu and Jane left earlier  to use the Keck telescope. Darcy, Jane’s assistant,  had jumped at the chance to go once she learned it was in Hawaii. That left Natasha Romanova; despite having been introduced to the woman called the Black Widow, Peggy felt uneasy around the ex-assassin. She knew far too much about the Red Room training; memories of Dotty and little girls left a niggle of doubt. But Steve trusted her and he had pot on senses when it came to people, so Peggy put aside those stray thoughts.

Tugging on a pair of yoga pants and a black SHIELD shirt, she padded across the floor of the big bedroom and out into the living area. Tony had called this a guest suite, but it was three times the size of Peggy’s first New York apartment. There were three on this level; Darcy and Jane were staying in the other two. Steve’s place took up a whole floor; Natasha and Clint’s apartments were on the same floor. Peggy hoped that Natasha was still up; it wasn’t really that late in New York time. Restaurants were still open for the after theatre crowd. Shaking the habit of going to bed early was taking longer than she expected. It didn’t help that Steve preferred early morning workouts.

Of course, she could ask the A.I. for help, but in her day, ladies didn’t talk about feminine needs in front of men and she couldn’t help but think of the computer as male. Calling him Jarvis felt foreign; she’d mourned Edwin Jarvis, a man she’d called friend. Though years had passed, Peggy always counted him as one of the people she truly trusted.  That Tony had named his computer after Edwin … well, that told her she had been right about the man’s character.

The stairs weren’t faster than the elevator, but she enjoyed climbing them without twinges in her knees or her back. In just a minute or so, she was outside of Natasha’s door, her finger pressing the buzzer twice in a row. In the quiet of the hallway, she second guessed herself. She should have gotten dressed and gone out; there was a Walgreen’s on every corner nowadays. There was probably a delivery service; pretty much everything was available for the right price.

Minutes ticked by and she heard no sounds of movement. Maybe Natasha was out of the Tower? Standing all alone, she sighed as another cramp ripped through her stomach. God, but she’d forgotten how much it hurt. A dose of muscle relaxants were next on the agenda. And a heating pad. There had to be one of those laying around somewhere, considering the aches and pains the Avengers acquired on a regular basis.  

Just as she turned to go, the door opened. Clint stood there in a pair of purple briefs and nothing else, dragging a hand through his messy hair, eyes blinking. Red stripes crossed his his cheek, lines from the pillow case, and he licked his dry lips without thinking. “Peggy. What’s up?”

“Oh, I thought this was Natasha’s room. I’m sorry.” She backed up a step.

“It is.” Clint looked confused. “She’s not back yet; mission post-op ran long. Do you want me to text her for you?”

“No, that’s not necessary.” And now Peggy couldn’t feel any more like a fool. She should have just gone out herself. “I just wanted to borrow something. It’s fine.”

“Oh, hey, yeah, come on in.” Clint held open the door and stepped out of the way. “What do you need? I’ll get it. Nat won’t mind.”

Last thing Peggy wanted to do was discuss feminine hygiene with Clint Barton. A half-naked Clint Barton. For some reason, he always seemed to be only partially dressed. “Really, it’s fine. I don’t want to bother you further; I already woke you.”

“No problem. You need lotion or shampoo or something? Got to be a girl thing.” Clint scratched his head, literally, only succeeding in making his hair stand up in more clumps.  Then his eyes widened. “Oooooh, right. You need some tampons or pads? Nat’s got extra strength Midol and a stash of those heating pads you stick on your belly.”  

Her face flamed red, but Clint didn’t noticed; he’d turned and was headed into the apartment, mumbling about where Natasha kept her things. Mostly to get out of the hall, Peggy stepped inside and shut the door; she could hear him banging open doors in the bathroom, so she crossed the living room and watched him rummage through makeup bags and med kits.

“A-ha!” He sat two bottles on the counter. “Nat swears these help the cramps.” Then he added a red box. “And these are the heat wrap things.” A blue box was next. “Regular or heavy flow?” he asked himself, not turning to look at Peggy. A smaller pink box was next. “Both. Never know, right? Probably been awhile.” A couple of thick pink soft squares and thinner blue ones joined the pile. “Maxi ultrathins and pantyliners. That should cover it.”

“That’s too much,” Peggy said as he turned to hand her the stack of boxes. “I just need enough to get through to morning.”

“Nah, take ‘em. Nat’s got more boxes of these things. Tony orders in bulk.” Clint seemed inordinately proud of himself. “Hey, did you know tampons are great for stopping blood flow from a puncture wound? Saved my life once, Nat did.  I keep one in my pack now.”

“Actually, yes, I knew that.” Peggy juggled the various items. “Thank you, Clint. I do appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry. Anytime.” Clint yawned.

“I’ll let you get back to sleep then.” Peggy beat a hasty retreat, the awkwardness returning. “Good night, and thanks again.”

Only after she was back in her room and tucked in her bed, the medicine starting to take the edge off of her cramps, did she think about Clint sleeping in Natasha’s bed. She could see the two of them as a couple; they were already partners and a relationship wasn’t much of a step to take. As she dozed off, she wondered why that conclusion made her feel slightly let down.

* * *

“Maybe if I tweaked the intake valve?” Steve was saying.

“Well, now, Steve, is that an invitation?” Tony replied.

Peggy paused at the top of the stairs when she heard Tony’s voice. Peeking around the corner, she saw Steve crouched by his motorcycle, his blonde hair mussed and a streak of grease across one cheek. Tony was leaning over him, a hand on the leather seat. A blush flushed Steve’s cheeks as he looked up.

“No way are you touching my bike,” Steve shot back. “I remember what you did to Clint’s. Just give me your advice”

“Aw, you can’t blame me for Clint’s bad driving.” Tony bent his head down further. “And I wasn’t talking about the bike.”

“I know.” Steve gazed up at Tony and Peggy felt a knot in her stomach tighten then release. She knew that look, the way those blue eyes sparkled. Last time she’d seen it, Steve had been looking at her that way. “I think the spark plugs need cleaning too.”

“You are such a troll,” Tony laughed. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

She silently retreated, tucking the folders under her arm as she pushed the elevator button for the common floor. Steve and Tony. It’s not like she was surprised that Steve was bisexual; he’d told her about pining over Bucky when he was younger.  In fact, Tony would be a good for Steve; he took himself too seriously sometimes and Tony was the antithesis of that. The more she thought about it, the better she felt; Tony might be exactly what Steve needed.

“Oh, hey,” Clint scrambled off the back of the couch, padding across the room in bare feet to put his cup in the sink. At least this time he had on a t-shirt with his ratty jeans even if it was two sizes too small.  “I’ll let you have the room.”

“Is that _Silverado_?” Peggy caught the image on the big screen. “I love that movie.”

Clint stopped mid-stride. “Who’s your favorite?”

“Jake,” she answered without hesitation. A young Kevin Costner in a fringed leather jacket and with a sassy mouth; what wasn’t to like?

“I’d have taken you for a Paden fan, but then I wouldn’t have pegged you for a western lover at all.” Clint leaned back against the breakfast bar, his blue grey eyes surveilling her.

“Westerns are so quintessentially American; the lone man riding into to town, haunted by his past, dying to save the innocent.” She sighed, remembering the first time she’d seen _True Grit_ with John Wayne. They’d taken the kids to the drive-in theatre, tucked them in the backseat in their pajamas as they watched the Duke help a little girl and a brash young cowboy. “I have a soft spot for that kind of man.”

“But Steve’s more the Paden type,” Clint protested. “Stalwart, upstanding, taking on the burden of being the sheriff. Jake’s brash and mouthy and rebellious.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t know Steve at all. First thing he did after the procedure was to smash out of a window and chase a Hydra assassin in car on foot through Brooklyn.” She dropped the folders on the end table and wandered over to the refrigerator to get a bottle of root beer. Full leaded and sugared – she’d missed the sweet bubbly taste.

“We are talking about our Cap, right? By the rules, listen to your leader, team bonding Steve?” Clint made a grabby hand motion and Peggy slid another bottle over to him. “I’ll give you the rushing in part, but not the mouthy and rebellious.”

“I don’t understand why people insist on thinking Steve is all virginal and innocent. He can curse like a sailor and cheats at poker. And he only obeys the orders he thinks are worth it. Ask him about Fraubaden sometime.” She appreciated the comfortable couch and chairs Stark had filled the room with. Kicking off her sensible shoes – she needed to take Pepper up on that offer to go shopping – she took the first stack of papers out and spread them across her lap. “You mind if we keep the movie on? Got used to noise during the war and then with the kids. Can’t hardly stand silence without falling asleep.”

Clint hesitated but then she heard a cabinet door open and he appeared over the back of the couch, dropping into the other end with a bag of Cheetos in hand. “Almost done with this flick. How do you feel about the remake of it with Jeff Bridges?”

“I didn’t get around to seeing it.” She had started exhibiting signs of alzheimer’s by that time. For a second she wondered if there was something to do now to prevent it from happening again, but then she shrugged the thought away to deal with later.

“Then I’ll queue it up next. That looks like a lot of paperwork you’ve got there.” Clint opened the foot rest and reclined the section. “They’ve got you snowed under with it?”

“Actually this is a project of my own. SHIELD hasn’t yet seen fit to allow me to return to work; too much of a risk, I hear.” That wasn’t worth thinking about either. Not when she had a soda to sip and something useful to do.

“Huh.” Clint turned his head sideways to view the diagram on the top page, then he dug his hand into the bag and munched on a handful of orange curls.

“Yes?” Peggy had read enough mission files to not discount any suggestion Clint might make. He wasn’t called Hawkeye just because he never missed.

“It’s just that the reporting agent drew that wrong. There’s no way the shot came from the church roof.” Clint shrugged and took a swig of root beer. “That’s a 52% angled slope covered with slate tiles. If it was raining as hard as he says, there’s no way anyone could be in that nook. Damn stuff is slippery as owl’s grease when wet.”

Peggy passed over the page. “Where did the shot come from then?”

As Clint bowed his head over the page, Peggy examined the lines of his face; a curved scar sat at the end of his eyebrow, another jagged rise of skin below his earlobe. A man who’d known battle and hadn’t emerged unscathed.

“Here.” He pointed a finger at a building further away. “Damn difficult, but it’s the only possibility. Fourth floor, last window on the end, you’d have a tangential shot at best.”

“Who could do it?” She asked.

“Me, maybe two other people. You’re looking at the work of a skilled sniper.”

“Huh.” Peggy looked at it again. The nagging itch she’d been feeling flared up. “Want to look at these others and see if there’s any more discrepancies?”

“Sure,” Clint said. “Why not?”

* * *

“I’m sure of it, Steve,” Peggy argued, putting her hands flat on the table and leaning forward. “It’s him. There’s no other plausible answer.”

“It’s not a matter of believing you, Peg, it’s about manpower. We’re spread thin as it is, dealing with the remaining pockets of HYDRA. All SHIELD intelligence points to Bucky taking the open contract on the President of Argentina. We’ll check out your lead as soon as I’m back from South America.” Steve was in his suit, a go bag over one shoulder.

“There’s no time to wait,” she insisted. “If my calculations are correct, we’ve got a 24 hour window to catch him. Let me go to San Antonio. I can take a small team …”

“We’re walking on eggshells around the new leadership of SHIELD as it is.” Steve paused in the doorway. “I’ll be back in sixteen hours; I’ll head right back out. Promise.”

She kicked the metal leg of a chair after he left. Useless. That’s what she was. People treated her like she was either a potential enemy, not to be trusted, or an old woman, unable to keep up with the modern world. If one more person tried to explain a computer program to her, she was going to scream. Now she had a solid lead on James and no one would listen.

In a heartbeat, she decided. Stuffing the papers back in her folder, she made a beeline for her rooms. A pair of black pants with a red turtleneck under a black jacket looked professional enough to serve. She finished off with snug boots and then she headed for the practice range, taking her favorite pistol and a small uzi. Her explorations of the Tower were paying off; she knew where the jets were stored; now she just had to figure out how to con a pilot into flying her to Texas.

“Need a lift?” Clint asked, falling into step beside her as she exited the elevator. “I’ve got an urge for some authentic Tex Mex; I know this great place, just a few hours away.”

“The salsa better be as good as you claim,” Natasha retorted from Peggy’s other side. “I’m tired of hearing about how great it is.”

“I thought you were in Canada?” Last she’d heard, the two of them were chasing down a rogue scientist with a formula that gave dogs the power of speech. Strange, but very annoying.

“Just got back in time to catch Steve grumbling on his way out.” Clint shrugged. “Personally, I’m an adherent of the ‘shut up and trust Peggy’ school of thought. So, it occurred to me that I was craving carne asada.”

“Or did you get orders to keep me out of trouble?” That was a real possibility. She wouldn’t put it past Steve to be thinking three steps ahead. “I’d have thought Steve would have you talk me out of it.”

“He did say something about that.” Clint winked as they went up the ramp into the jet. “But then Steve has a lot to learn about women if he thinks anything can change your mind.  Besides, I helped find the pattern, remember?”

“I’m just here so I can tell Steve I told you so,” Natasha said with a shrug. “Can’t bank enough of those.”

Peggy didn’t miss the look the two exchanged, a silent communication that left her out of the loop. So she ignored it and filed it away for later. “Well, then, let’s get in the air shall we?”

Strapping in, she settled into a jump seat as Clint smoothly took off. He flew with the ease of long hours in the cockpit, keeping up an endless chatter about this, that, or the other. He joked about movies and music, the Kardashians and the state of baseball. Occasionally, Natasha would toss out a few words, but she mostly kept quiet and focused on the flight controls. By the time they landed, Peggy knew that Clint had a dog which she’d never seen, that his favorite pizza topping was buffalo mozzarella, and he had season tickets to the Nets.

The rock walls of the Alamo rose out of the dusty earth, imbued with history and the blood of the fallen on both sides.  A place haunted by death, it was a perfect location for Eric Williams to hold a meeting. Known by the code name the Grim Reaper, Williams was one of the last high ranking HYDRA leaders. Peggy’s research pointed to him as the next target; based upon the data, she’d compiled a list of HYDRA operatives most likely involved with Bucky’s surgery and training. Her theory was that he was systematically killing them.

“You know, I’d pick a nice hotel somewhere in Bora Bora, or of those cabins on the mountainside. The Alamo?” Clint wrinkled his nose at the thought.  “I’m off to the rooftops to check perches.” He melted into the crowd; Natasha nodded and went her way as well.

As the only one Williams wouldn’t recognize, it was Peggy’s job to track him down. She’d memorized the layout and had three possible locations for clandestine rendezvous. She found him at the second one, near the back corner of the Research Center. She flicked her hat, pulling it down tighter by the wide brim, then wiped the sweat from the back of her neck with the red bandana she’d taken from Natasha. Just another overheated tourist heading for the vending machine to get a bottle of water.

The bullet slammed into wall, two inches off mark; Williams’ eyes narrowed in where the shooter would be. He pulled out a gun and fired off a round or two; tourist scattered at the sounds and a few screamed. She saw Natasha drop from the roofline, grappling with Williams; knowing he was taken care of, Peggy ran for the exit route she and Clint had mapped out, a small alleyway between the parking garage and the office building across the street. James would make for the south end where it emptied out in the delivery area of the Emily Marion hotel. Taking the corner without a glance at the chaos behind her, Peggy was grateful for low heeled boots with traction that gripped as she put on a burst of speed.

James stood on the landing platform, hands raised, coiled tight with tension, ready to spring; arrow aimed right at James’ heart, Clint held him captive, words becoming clear as Peggy slowed and stealthy came up behind James’s back.

“... twitchy as hell. Look, I want to help you. All you’ve got to do is come with; I promise I will help you take out each and everyone of those HYDRA fuckers. Please don’t make me explain to Steve why I had to kill you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” James said. His oh so recognizable voice rolled over her, firing so many memories. “Even though I deserve it.”

She knew her cue when she heard it. “James. Please. Let us help.”

Bucky turned, his eyes wide. “Peg?” He stared at her,  not believing what he was seeing. “How can it be you?”

“You think I’m going to leave you and Steve on your own?” She smiled despite her deep seated worry; he was so pale, drained of life, so unlike the charming man she’d known. “You need someone to run the show.”

Just like that, a spark appeared in James’s eyes and he chuckled. “Yeah, you’re you, alright.” Then he sobered. “But I’ve got a job to finish here.”

“You mean him?” Natasha pushed Williams in front of her as she came around the corner; he stumbled to his knees, hands tied behind his back and blood running down his face. “We can flip a coin to see who kicks him out of the jet.”

“We’ll take him back to SHIELD,” Peggy corrected. Natasha arched an eyebrow and Clint bit his lip to keep from smiling at her command voice. “So he can be interrogated. James can watch Natasha get every bit of information from him.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “Margaret Carter, you have hidden depths. I think I love you.”

“This is just the tip of the iceberg,” Peggy told him. “Wait until I get to tell Steve not only was I right, but we caught the Grim Reaper as well.”

“God, Peggy. I missed you,” James replied.

* * *

She watched Steve’s face as he walked into the room, his eyes taking in all of her preparations. The table set for two, candles lit, a bouquet of fresh daisies. Soft music playing as a wind from the open doors ruffled the white sheers. The smell of tomatoes and basil wafted from the kitchen where the caterers left the meals warming along with delicious garlic bread and tiramisu for dessert.

First he put the pieces together then he panicked then he pushed the emotion away and put on his Captain America face. “Peggy, I …”

“Hold that thought, Steve.” She tamped down on her smile lest she give away the surprise. “I’ve got to get the bread out of the oven.”

“Peg …” Steve trailed after her as she went into the kitchen With an oven mitt, she opened the oven and drew out the pan. The cheese was bubbly and just starting to brown; the aroma was divine.

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “Everything will be made clear …”

“Alright, I’m here. Between you and Pepper, I didn’t have much of a …” Tony stopped when he saw the set up. “Is this one of Pep’s ‘break-the-bad-news’ dinners? What have I done now?”

“Tony Stark, Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, Tony Stark.” Peggy shifted the bread over to a plate and walked it over to the table. “This dinner is for you. Now man up because the sexual tension is getting to all of us.”

Tony’s laughter filled the room; Steve blushed from the roots of his hair to the neckline of his undershirt.  “Oh, this is priceless. Peggy giving her blessing; can’t get any better than that. Come on, Capsicle, let’s see what the ladies think is a romantic dinner.”

“I don’t … Peggy, I never want to hurt you.” Steve’s eyes pleaded with her to understand.

“Steve, darling. What we had was beautiful and special, but that was over 60 years ago for me. I don’t know if Stark is what you need now, but you won’t know unless you try.” She smiled and saw Steve’s blue eyes clear.

“We’ll probably kill each other,” Steve said with a chuckle. “You’re right, though; I want to see where it leads.”

“JARVIS knows where everything is.” Peggy patted Steve on the shoulder and headed for the door. Turning her head, she tossed a parting shot over her shoulder. “I’d tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t do, but Tony’s a Stark and you were in show business. So have fun.”

She thought she’d long ago left her love for Steve behind, but the emotion hit her as she stepped into the elevator. Logic and reason told her she’d done the right thing; there was just enough nostalgic longing in her heart for one last ache, a shadow of what she’d once felt. Moving on … Peggy knew how to do that. Didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Operation Stubborn Idiots go okay?” Clint was laying with his feet on the back of the couch and his head hanging off of the seat.  The remote control was upside down like Clint, pointed at the tv as he flipped through the channels. His eyes flicked over her face and he swung himself upright. “What happened? Did they give you trouble?”

He really didn’t miss anything; she knew how to school her face to hide what she was feeling from almost everyone. “Steve was surprised; Tony took it in stride.”

“Just as expected,” Clint said, muting the TV. “So what’s up, good lookin’?”

Sighing, she leaned against the back of the sofa. “It’s silly, really. I’m perfectly happy for Steve so there’s no reason to feel …”

“Like you just broke up?” Clint chuckled. “What you need is boomerang night; let’s get out of here and do something fun.  I know this great pub that has music on Wednesday nights; great chips and shepherd’s pie. You can tell me everything they got wrong about England.”

The last few months, she’d been so busy reconnecting, going through tests, and helping find James that she’d had little time for anything else. Maybe a night out with a friend was a good idea.  “The Cock & Bull is the best in the city. My treat. A pint sounds like the medicine I need.”

They managed to find two spots at the bar; Peggy ordered two pints of the house beer and Clint got some curried deviled eggs to share. Manchester United was playing Tottenham on the television; Peggy had no idea that Clint liked football. He had an awful taste in teams, but he could argue the game with her.. By the time her Beef & Ale pie and Clint’s Bulldog sandwich arrived, the musicians were ready for their first set, a lively mix of celtic music mixed with folk tunes.  By the time she was on her third beer, she realized she was quite enjoying herself. Clint was so easy to talk to, so quick with the jokes. Along the way, she was coming to realize he cared deeply about the team. Had he been around during the war, he’d have fit right in with the Howling Commandos; she had to admit Clint Barton was a fascinating man.

Clint insisted they leave immediately when he found out she’d never seen the TV show _Firefly._ All the way back, Clint waxed poetic about the hybrid western science fiction show that was cancelled too soon. Feeling mellow, Peggy let him talk, watching the way his blue-grey eyes sparked with excitement at introducing her to something he loved. Once she settled on the couch with a Guinness from the fridge, she had to admit that Clint was right -- she did enjoy the exploits of the Serenity’s crew.

“Oh, God,” Natasha groaned as she came into the room. “Not you too. Clint makes me watch the whole series at least once a year.”

“Hey, Tony loves it too,” Clint protested as Natasha pushed his feet off the ottoman and sat down on it. He turned to Peggy. “He thinks he’s Mal, but Tony is Kaylee. Natasha is Zoe, Bruce is River, I’m Jayne, and Steve’s Mal.”

“He’ll go on like this for an hour,” Natasha warned him.

“Actually, I’d say Thor was Jayne. Not the selling out for money part, but he is the muscle. And Steve is Simon with James as River,” Peggy replied, thinking about it. “Bruce fits Shepherd Book. Clint’s the most like Mal, honestly.”

“No way,” Clint protested. “I’m not captain material.”

“Neither is Malcolm Reynolds,” Peggy retorted. “He falls into it because he’s trying to make his way out on the edges of space. A good man but also one who sees the world as it is.”

Natasha nudged Clint’s knees. “And that would make Peggy Inara. Wise and competent and beautiful, don’t you agree, Clint?”

“Um, yeah, I can see that.” Clint scrambled up and grabbed his half-empty beer bottle. “Want a drink? Peg and I are way ahead of you. We’ve been out  celebrating the end of the unrequited stares of longing. I’m going to take a break and then I’ll get one for you.” He beat a hasty retreat from the room.

“Clint was kind enough to keep me company tonight,” Peggy hurried to assure Natasha. “Just a friendly evening at the pub, nothing to worry about.”

“Worry?” Natasha cocked her head and her green eyes looked right through Peggy. “You think Clint and I are a couple. Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Peggy was confused.

“Listen, Clint sometimes doesn’t sleep well … hell, none of us do and I imagine you’re the same. It helps if there’s someone he trusts nearby, so we share a bed on occasion. Even if I’m not there, if the dreams get too bad, he’ll use my room because he says the sheets smell like me. We’re not lovers.” She wrinkled her nose as if she found that idea distasteful. “Saying Clint is like my brother isn’t exactly accurate, but it’s the closest word I know to explain it. And, since we are so close, I have to warn you that if you break him, I will take you down. As much as I like you, Clint comes first.”

“Break him? Why would I …” She stopped as she remembered flirting in the kitchen, watching movies together, Clint’s constant presence through all those files. “Oh. I didn’t. I mean, I thought he was taken, so …”

“Yeah. Look, if you’re not interested, let him down easy..”

Now that the option was in front of her, Peggy couldn’t say for sure how she felt. “I need to think about it,” was what she arrived at. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“And that’s the right answer,” Natasha mumbled as Clint returned. “Don’t forget my beer!” she called to him. “What episode are we on? Tell me it’s 'Our Ms. Reynolds.' That’s my favorite.”

If Clint noticed Peggy’s pensiveness, he didn’t say anything; he went right back to acting the friendly guy from the pub as she sat and pondered the possibilities.

* * *

“Congratulations, Peggy.” Steve’s arms enveloped her in a warm hug. “It’s about damn time.”

When Fury had called her into his office, she’d been expecting to be placed back on active duty in some form or fashion, but he’d blindsided her with a Level 7 clearance and the job of official Avenger Wrangler, as he called it.  With that came a great deal of autonomy and practically a place on the team, albeit without superpowers of her own. Of course, even Wanda didn’t know exactly how the spell that had deaged her worked nor whether she’d grow old again or remain the same. Still, she had skills that would come in handy.

“Who’s making Carter’s suit?” Tony asked the room in general, grinning ear-to-ear. The thing between he and Steve was working out far better than anyone could have hoped. He was much more genial and laid back about things. Far too willing to share details of their sex life to anyone who’d listen, but that was an acceptable trade off. “I vote for red, white and blue spandex. We need more women in sexy outfits on this team. Just kidding, O Captain, my Captain.” Tony addressed that last statement to his glaring lover.

“A SHIELD tac suit will be fine,” Peggy replied. “I’m not a superhero.”

“Anyone who can make Tony happy is super in my book.” Pepper stepped up and gave Peggy a quick hug. “Congratulations, Peg. Knowing you’re with them will make me sleep easier.”

“You give me far too much credit.” Peggy chuckled. “I think Steve is the real reason Stark’s easier to deal with.”

“Are you suggesting I’m pussy whipped?” Tony took affront at the idea. “Or would that be …”

“Tony,” Steve and Pepper spoke at the exact same time.

“Fine. You’re no fun.” Tony turned to the others in the room. “Party time! Tonight at 8. Don’t be late or Thor will eat all the wings again.”

Stark was a force of nature; Peggy stepped aside and let him whirl away, taking Steve and Pepper with him as he began to plan. How easily everyone accepted her was why this was going to work; if she could herd the howling commandos and earn their trust, she could do the same for the Avengers. Starting SHIELD might be easy in comparison.

“Well, it’s official. You’re ceritfiable.” Clint grinned as he stopped beside her.

“Then I’ll fit right in,” she said, aware of his nearness and the way her nerves jumped.

“Crazy are us,” he agreed. “So you’re the new sheriff in town?”

“More like the new saloon owner, I think.” She took a deep breath and went for it. “Speaking of the old west, I hear the Film Forum is having a John Huston retrospective; there’s a double feature of _Treasure of the Sierra Madre_ and _The Unforgiven_ this weekend. Are you interested in going?”

“Oooh, Bogart and Lancaster. Now that’s a pairing I’d love to see.” Clint’s smile widened. “Sounds great.”

“Good.” Relief coursed through her; it had been a long time since she’d asked someone out. “It’s a date then.”

“Date?” Clint’s head whipped around. “Date? As in date date?”

God but he was cute the way his eyes darkened and he sputtered. “If by date you mean two single people who want to get to know each other better, then, yes, it’s a date. Unless you don’t want …”

“No, no, I want to. It’s just … I thought … I mean you didn’t seem …” Clint snapped his mouth shut for a second, gathering his thoughts. “Do you like Thai? I know a hole-in-the-wall place near the theater we could grab dinner.”

“The spicier the better.”

* * *

“You know,” Clint said, placing his palms against the wall and bracing himself. “The white hat always gets the girl in the old westerns and I’m no white hat.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Peggy said, curling her fingers into Clint’s warm grey henley and tugging him to close the distance. “Maybe I’m the white hat and I get my man.”

They met halfway, their lips brushing first then settling into a long slow kiss.

  
  



End file.
